


redshift

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mission turned sexy, Near Death Experiences, sex in a lion, takes places during s3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: Shiro doesn’t stop him, because Keith is right. He can’t keep making promises that even he doesn’t know if he can keep.The universe must just hate them like that.





	redshift

On a planet tucked away in the permeating shadows of everlasting night, Keith and Shiro almost don’t make it out.

 

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Collecting samples, searching for possible life that they may be able to make contact with and recruit for the cause. They’d traveled in Black together—Keith piloting, Black purring her approval as soon as he set foot in her and coaxed her to life. It was the first time Shiro found himself back in her without a rightful place there, feeling somewhat awkward as he stood to copilot.

 

Of course, she was no longer his. Even so, Shiro had no lingering feelings over her current rejection of him. Keith was born to lead, was born to step into his role, because that’s the way they worked together.

 

They protected one another. They supported each other unconditionally. In any given situation, they had each other’s backs.

 

That’s the way they grew up together, finding initial comfort as two young kids that were lost and alone. That’s the way they lived and laughed together. That’s the way they mourned, grieved when they repeatedly lost each other. That’s the way they reunited, the way they fought side-by-side, almost died in battle.

 

And above all else, that’s the way they learned to love.

 

So when they ran into unexpected creatures in the thick of the nearly black forest, with gnashing teeth and huge jaws set out to devour them, there wasn’t time to think. There wasn’t time to panic, or to re-confess their undying devotion.

 

There was only Shiro’s vision blinding over with rage, that loss of control growing deep inside him, as he activated his arm and promptly slit their throats the second he saw one lunge for Keith. But not before they were chased, before they stumbled and fell, blindly trying to find their way out on that stupid planet that didn’t even have a stupid moon to guide them.

 

It was Black that picked them up immediately afterwards, when they were close enough that she could feel both her paladin’s—past and present—broadcast for help. And it’s in Black now, after they report back to the team that they’re alright, that Keith is lowering himself to his knees wordlessly.

 

“Keith...” Shiro watches the way Keith gingerly curls his legs beneath him, the way he blows the mud-caked hair out from between his lips, tucking it neatly behind his ears. Never once do his eyes leave him. “What are you—”

 

“You don’t want them to hear you on the coms, do you?” Keith mouths up at him, smirk unraveling in such a smug way Shiro is already subconsciously spreading his legs wider.

 

With his heart still racing from adrenaline, from the rush of the near-death experience, Keith suggestively nestling himself between his thighs isn’t helping to calm him down. His fingers are reaching out for the armor at his waist and chest before Shiro can warm him that he shouldn’t, unclasping it quietly, carefully.

 

Shiro tugs off his helmet, disconnecting the coms as more of an afterthought. Safety first, he thinks. What the team doesn’t know, won’t hurt them.

 

This happens more often than he cares to admit, Keith getting strung out and needy after a mission, or right before a mission, or Hell—sometimes _during_ a mission. The only unknown factor in all of it, is when exactly he’s going to strike, when he’s going to look at him with those desperate, unyielding eyes, and take what he wants from him.

 

Though take is a strong word, when Shiro isn’t ever opposed to giving.

 

Shiro knows better now, thinking back to the time they were stranded with his wound from Haggar almost killing him. He thinks back to the way Keith crept into his room once he finally left the healing pod, how he’d straddled him without any prelude, lips touching blistering kisses everywhere he could reach.

 

They were as passionate as they were melancholic. His hands had been shaking uncontrollably until Shiro threaded their fingers together, easing into Keith as he sunk down above him. The fear, the simultaneous relief he had found written in the lines of Keith’s face that night, even on the brink of orgasm, wrought themselves permanently into his memory.

 

And that had been nothing in comparison to when he'd been rescued from near death out in space after going missing for months.

 

Here, Keith’s silence speaks higher volumes than his words ever will. Than they ever have.

 

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, clipped with breathlessness and the strain of wondering if he should go along with this or try and make sure Keith is alright. “What are you doing?”

 

“Checking for injuries,” Keith explains, his smile widening, because that’s clearly not what he’s doing.

 

Checking injuries shouldn’t include his hands sliding slowly back down over Shiro’s uniform-clad thighs, fingers plucking at the spandex along the way, snapping it against the heated skin underneath. Checking injuries shouldn't include how one of his hands wanders, drifts to his backside, squeezing.

 

“Seriously,” Shiro groans, hips jerking forward slightly, head falling back to cradle itself within Black’s seat. “Here? Right now?”

 

“Where else?” Keith says, glancing up at him with a perfect stoneface, as if that’s a ridiculous question. “We won’t have time after they crowd us when we get back. Then they’ll shove us into healing pods. I can’t wait that long.”

 

“I’m a little sore, but I don’t think I have any injuries warranting that,” Shiro reassures him, but then hesitates, trying to notice any that might be on Keith. Besides the bit of blood gathering at the corner of his mouth, he appears to be fine, if a little pale and shaky. “Wait, are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” Keith insists, brows furrowing, teasing his fingers in between his legs. Shiro allows him, attempting to get better control of his breathing when he brushes right below his groin.

 

There’s a smile again, a proud gleam, especially when Keith traces around the outline of his cock until he manages to get it stirring, twitching in interest. Shiro may or may not be reconsidering if he should be ashamed at how little time it takes, when Keith makes a tiny, pained noise right as he pushes higher onto his knees.

 

He palms Shiro anyway, adding a small pressure as if toying with him, though Shiro can tell that it just means Keith was lying and it’s hard for him to move right.

 

Keith must sense this, because quietly, he admits, “But, uh, as a side note. You know. My ankle might be broken?”

 

“You’re killing me,” Shiro moans, wiping his hand across his face in exasperation, wondering if the day will ever come where Keith actually decides to take care of himself first. “If you’re hurt, we should go back. This can wait.”

 

“It _can’t_.” Keith’s words waver and raise in volume, agitation clear in that familiar fear that stretches his eyes, in the anxious wrinkle of his forehead as he stares to Shiro’s crotch, digging his nails tight into his flesh. “It can’t, because whenever I wait, you’re _gone_. Or almost gone. I can’t. Not again.”

 

Shiro’s gaze softens. Gently, he cups Keith’s chin, and draws it up until they lock eyes. Dark, glassy ones brimming with so many strong emotions meet him, and Keith leans into the comforting touch the warmth of his flesh hand provides.

 

“We made it. I’m not going anywhere, Keith,” Shiro tells him, smoothing his thumb over the delicately bruised ridge of his cheek. Down to the corner of his mouth, wiping the blood away. “Not without you.”

 

Keith’s fingers falter in their ministrations. He ducks his head, a cascade of hair unfurling over his eyes, blanketing his expression.

 

“I wish I could believe that,” is all he replies with, in a broken, heart-wrenching sort of voice. Then he’s pushing forward on his good foot to grab the zipper at the back of Shiro’s suit, yanking it down and divesting him of his uniform with slow, steady movements.

 

Shiro doesn’t stop him, because Keith is right. He can’t keep making promises that even he doesn’t know if he can keep.

 

The universe must just hate them like that.

 

Once he manages to get his uniform bunched to his waist, Shiro puts a firm hand to Keith's chest, and he stops. Brows raising at him quizzically, he uses Shiro’s body as support to lean against as his injured foot is uselessly lifted behind him.

 

Shiro folds his hands around Keith's hips, lifting him up off the ground, and switches their positions before Keith can protest. He very carefully resituates Keith in the cockpit chair, making quick work of undoing the clasps on his own armour, all while Keith watches him, not saying a word.

 

Then Shiro is the one kneeling, propping Keith’s foot on top of his shoulder. Ripping off one of his removed sleeves with his teeth, Shiro wraps it around where the skin of his ankle is purpling, binding the injury. Keith winces as he does it, his fingers curling into the armrests of the chair.

 

“Elevation should help the swelling,” Shiro explains, eyeing the eager erection now level with him, “This is all we’re doing. I don’t want to hear any complaints until we’re back on the ship, and that’s an order.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Keith breathes, eyes dark with lust, and Shiro can see his stomach tightening in anticipation.

 

There’s a few fresh cuts sprinkled across his body that Shiro presses a multitude of wet kisses to, mouth skimming across Keith's heaving chest. He isn't a stranger to the way his gentleness is received, especially at a time like this, where it's obvious that the pain is as much of a turn on for Keith as the tenderness is.

 

“Does this hurt at all?” Shiro asks softly, leaning forward, angling Keith’s foot higher so he can get close enough to touch where he wants.

 

“Mmm,” Keith hums, biting his lip, hips pushing to the edge of the seat to meet him. “Not in a way that’s bad.”

 

Shiro traces the outer ring of a forming bruise with his metal fingers, a large splotch of reddened skin that’s splayed like the petals of a flower across Keith’s hip. He lifts his gaze to watch Keith, to watch the cute way he knows he’ll flush, how the pink will fill his cheeks gradually. How it will start at the tips of his ears, and then spread to his nose, like snow dusting over an elegant lake frosted with ice.

 

Right on cue, it does, and he’s just as beautiful as the first day Shiro saw him like this.

 

Just as beautiful as the first day Shiro saw him at all.

 

Shiro smiles, savoring the moment. Relishing in the abashed way Keith turns his head, even still after all this time, unused to such tender treatment. Wondering, if there will ever be an era of peace in the future where they can actually take their time, can actually pretend they don’t have responsibilities to get back to that can’t even guarantee he’ll live to see Keith like this ever again.

 

His lips inch slowly to Keith’s groin, kissing sloppily at his navel. Then he presses them to the head of his cock, which is already slick with beads of precum and pulsing towards him when he circles the tip with his tongue.

 

Whining low in his throat, Keith tilts his head back, his adam’s apple bobbing as Shiro pulls him into his mouth. Hips giving a few abortive jerks, Keith raises one hand to his own mouth, biting down around his fingers to staunch a more obvious moan.

 

Shiro slips off him with a lewd _pop_. “Let me hear you, Keith. It’s alright, I turned off the coms.”

 

“Just hurry up, I need you,” Keith hisses through his teeth, already past the point of foreplay and sweet nothings they don’t have time for anyway. Always the one to be demanding no matter what position he’s in. “This isn’t enough.”

 

He looks down at him with fluttering lashes, pleading eyes that are heavily lidded and leaving Shiro wanting more, too. So much more. Then Keith’s pulling his fingers out, moaning loudly in surprise as Shiro smiles wider and curls his hand around the base of his shaft.

 

“Say it with me. Patience yields…” Shiro teases, pumping up slowly, rolling his wrist back down. Stroking in even, but rough movements, loving every second of being able to draw this out.

 

Even if it’s only for that one second longer.

 

Keith moans again, positively trembling over every not-enough touch. One of his hands slips from the armrest to card through the longer tuft of Shiro’s newly cut hair.

 

“F-focus,” he shudders out, weakly. Gasping, panting, knowing that’s not going to cut it.  

 

“Sorry, what was that?” The hand in Shiro’s hair tightens at the same time he places his mouth right back to the head of his cock, letting the warmth of his breath play against it, lips hanging just barely out of reach. “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”        

 

There’s a pause, a weak attempt of Keith trying to even his breathing, get better control of himself. More strongly, he manages, “Patience yields, ah—f-focus.”

 

Shiro picks up speed, but only enough to have Keith crying out in frustration, to have his injured leg almost slip off his shoulder. Shiro props it up at the last second, holding it firmly in place.

 

“Good,” Shiro soothes him, running his tongue along the head, dipping down to a vein that’s throbbing right above where his metal fingers continue to work around him faster and faster. “But I know you can do better.”

 

He peers up at Keith through the thick of his lashes, catching the exact lovely moment Keith simultaneously loses it and claims his victory. Taking another deep breath, Keith closes his eyes, and Shiro can practically feel him centering himself.

 

“Patience. Yields. _Focus_ ,” he says one more time, with sudden clarity. Distinctly, enunciating every word in the most wrecked, huskiest tone Shiro’s possibly ever heard. Then his eyes are fluttering open, free leg joining the other to hook around the back of Shiro’s neck.

 

Within his next rushed breath, he’s pleading, “Takashi, _please_.”

 

That’s when it’s over. It’s all too obvious who’s won. The result is always the same every time.

 

But Shiro’s never had any complaints about that, either.

 

Shiro slips his mouth back around him, swallowing down to the hilt, his metal hand settling on his ass to leverage his cheeks apart. Rubbing his thumb against his twitching hole, not quite going in, but pushing against the resisting muscle as he bobs his head up and down.

 

Keening, Keith tugs on his hair, and Shiro can tell by the noises he’s making, by the way his thighs shake and squeeze around him, that he’s already close.

 

“Fuck me, Takashi,” he’s whining, right as Shiro curls his tongue around his head while still pushing him farther towards the back of his throat. “Fuck me, fuck me.”

 

Shiro hums, letting the vibrations take him over the edge. Peeking through his hair as Keith jerks it upwards, Shiro can see the way his eyes are rolling towards the back of his head now, smiling euphorically as he climbs to that end. Shiro’s own neglected erection sits heavy between his legs, throbbing to be inside Keith. In this moment, he’s never wanted to follow an order more in his life.

 

He pushes heavily against Keith’s perineum, and a rush of hot liquid spurts out upon his tongue. Shiro catches it easily, hand sliding up to grip the base of his cock to keep it steady, to keep it flowing into his mouth. Swallowing it all, he eases himself off Keith inch by inch, licking the head clean of any lingering cum.

 

Within seconds, he’s leaning up, pressing a deep, soft kiss to Keith’s lips. Cupping his chin with his hand, moving against him, fast and desperate like it’s both their first and last time.

 

When he pulls away, Keith doesn’t say anything for a while, just draws in breath after raspy breath. There’s no words as Shiro helps him back into his uniform, helps snap his armor back on, ignoring how his cock aches within the confines of his pants.

 

In his mind, Black is just as silent, but Shiro briefly wonders if she's busy stirring in Keith's. He wishes he could help by piloting as well, but by then Keith’s gathered enough of his wits to bring the engines roaring back to life, awkwardly figuring a way to use the controls around his injury and configure a shortcut into the navigation system. Shiro keeps himself curled by his feet, continuing to have Keith’s ankle propped on his shoulder, while facing the outcrop of pitch blackness of stars and space that filters into view around them.

 

Then Shiro feels a hand in his hair again, scratching through the buzz at the back of his neck.

 

“I love you,” Keith murmurs into the dark, and Shiro doesn’t have to turn around to hear the smile that comes along with it.

 

Shiro matches it, gently pressing a kiss to Keith’s ankle. He leans into Keith’s touch, fingers brushing over the bottom of his foot, sighing back, “I love you, too, Keith.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I heard Josh Keaton mention that even if Shiro is a clone now, all Shiros probably have the same hearts and personalities. So that inspired me to write this despite believing in clone theory, because that means that every Shiro loves and cares for Keith the same :)


End file.
